


to be protected and cherished

by Arzani



Series: the world in balance [5]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, blowjob, will be tagged as the story proceeds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-01-16 11:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12342228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: John hadn't told James and Thomas why he had been injured when he first came to them. His past should remain in the past. But sometimes it isn't in one's hand to decide over fate.It's Thomas' and James' part to protect and cherish John, when he can't.





	1. triumvirate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maggie_Kyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maggie_Kyle/gifts).



> Thank you to uniwolfwerecorn for betaing :)

Winter came and went like a snowflake, falling softly to the ground until it melted at the very contact with the earth. Before John realized it, half a year had passed. It happened in a blink, the time rushing by like good times always do. One day he woke up between James’ and Thomas’ bodies and it just happened. The realization dawned on him that this really could be forever, this, them, his life with the two most wonderful men he’d ever met. A smile tugged at the edges of his mouth and he decided to draw them both a little closer, for the sake of proving to himself that he could.

One arm was slung over Thomas’ chest and John tugged him in, while he himself edged closer to James. The man had to serve as his cushion, a routine by now which no one really cared about anymore. With a low groan Thomas followed the soft pull, mumbling something incoherent John didn’t try to decipher. Instead he chuckled lowly, before he heard, “Stop moving around, it’s too early to get up, John.”

James seemed to have the opinion that before the sun wasn’t high enough to tickle their noses, it was too early to rise out of bed. With a yawn John nuzzled himself back into a comfortable position between James and Thomas and – almost back asleep – agreed.

When he woke up again, John found himself alone in the bed, but the side next to him was still slightly warm, so at least James couldn’t be up for too long. As nimble as he’d never been before in his life since losing his leg, he slipped into his breeches and tugged a shirt over his bare torso. The crutch in reach – always in reach, Thomas and James made sure of it – allowed him to swiftly make his way to the kitchen. The chatter he heard stirred a warmth in his chest.

“You think this year the younger Morris is willing to let his boy help me?” John heard James asking and his eyebrow shot up. He, of course, knew who Morris was, as well as he knew his son, but that James – his James, stubborn and headstrong – asked for help willingly was new to him.

“You can try. I’ve seen him courting the Darry’s daughter. I’m sure he’s eager for a few extra coins,” Thomas answered, the shrug visible even in his voice.

This, John thought, was something he’d seen and heard of as well. Working in the local tavern gave input on all sorts of gossip, and the people of their little village had found a liking to him and his stories. They did tell stories in return.

“She’s thirteen. She shouldn’t be courted by anyone,” John quipped in, smirking as he finally entered the kitchen. His eyes roamed the room, or, more exactly, his two lovers sitting idly at the table drinking tea and having breakfast. It was a sight for sore eyes, James’ fiery locks tousled and framing his face and Thomas, next to him, with his blue eyes sparkling in the morning sun. They were beautiful and John knew he didn’t tell them often enough.

“You’re up early,” Thomas said and stood to get the hot water from the stove. James just pulled the second empty stool out for John to sit.

It did take him a few hobbled steps to cross the distance, but then he leant down into James’ space to kiss him good-morning. His free hand found its way into James’ hair, tilting the head up to let their mouths connect. It was no quick kiss, but not a drawn-out one either. It was the easiest, most content kiss. It was a feeling of belonging and a touch so settled that nature itself seemed to have composed it.

He placed himself into the empty stool after James’ hand released his shirt and watched Thomas pour him tea. Only then, when the hot kettle was placed away safely, Thomas mirrored his kiss. This time, Thomas bent down and John tilted his head up to fall into the comfort of being secure. It still felt different to kiss Thomas, always had and always would, but it was no less intimate or breathtaking. If James carried him, Thomas made him fly.

“So,” John finally inquired, but only after he had sipped at his tea first, “what is all this talk about help?”

“It’s almost April, and I do need help with the farm. It’s always a gamble who will work with whom. As you know, I’m not the only farmer around here, and a small one quite obviously. I don’t provide that much work,” James explained, forearms on the table but only until he reached for the grapes and popped one into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought he added, “I don’t like the season workers around.”

John had heard that during summer and fall a lot of temporary workers came into town to help the farmers with the harvest. Most of the small town’s folk made their living by farming one way or another. Be it growing vegetables and crops or herding cattle. He’d just never anticipated James to be one of those who needed help as well.

The surprise must have shown on his face, because James’ rather impassive face slipped into a smirk, showing his teeth. “You didn’t really think I’d till all this land on my own?”

Well, yes, it was exactly what John had thought, but he sure as hell wasn’t admitting to that now. So he just shrugged and glanced at Thomas, who wanted to take a bite from his bacon, but dropped the fork back down. “Me?” he exclaimed and then shook his head. “Oh, forget it! Ten years of forced manual labor are quite enough, dear. I’ve had enough farming for a lifetime.”

There was no malice in Thomas’ tone, just a stating of facts, but something in John’s stomach churned nonetheless. It was the guilt he couldn’t get rid of, for not trying to get Thomas out of that plantation, rather than forcing James right in with him. Back then it had seemed the right thing to do, but also, back then he hadn’t known Thomas, nor Thomas’ ability to love freely. Before those thoughts could spiral downwards, though, James caught his hand and squeezed.

“Stay here.”

It was enough to ground John and he nodded, took a deep breath and freed himself from the past. Thomas could talk freely about it; a strength John would never possess. He was glad James and Thomas accepted his half-truths and stories that mixed fact with fiction. He wasn’t even sure he remembered all and he knew he didn’t want to. It wasn’t the past that counted.

“So you need help?” John asked, as much to clarify as to anchor himself in the present. James nodded.

“And you want men from town?” he went on. Again, James nodded, shrugged, squeezed his hand again. John let himself fall into the feeling. Then he smirked.

“I’ve heard Dowman’s wife’s pregnant again. I’m sure he’s in for the work. Poor man doesn’t manage to sell his skills to anyone’s advantage.”

James snorted at that and Thomas made a face. But before he could say something, James already lamented, “That’s because he doesn’t have skills.”

“He’s a fine man, he’s always friendly, and he bought Shakespeare for Charlotte,” Thomas said, to defend him. Davis Downsman was the town’s carpenter, but John knew as much as everyone else living in a ten miles’ radius that he lacked business and coin. Which, John had to admit James was right about, came probably from a lack of skills in his actual profession. Inherited from his father, Davis never had been good in carpentry, but couldn’t afford to give up the shop. John believed he would make a better scribe or painter, but there was no need for such in the outskirts of Savannah.

“Of course he bought it, after your recommendation,” John said smugly instead, reaching for Thomas to draw him close, “he fancies you.”

It was a delight to see Thomas blush, while James jerked his head from John to Thomas and back hastily. Suppressing the snicker, John watched as James’ green eyes became slits.

“I’d just considered hiring him, but I have to rethink,” James said between gritted teeth, jealousy visible in his every fiber. It wasn’t like he could just walk up to the man and claim Thomas as his, because they pretended to be cousins. Yet John knew that James wanted to.

“James,” Thomas said indignantly and shook his head in disbelieve, “you will ask him! He’s married and they need the money. And stop scratching the table!”

Just then John realized that James had indeed bore his nails into the table top. Which was better than crashing John’s hand, which laid softly in James’ other one, but still.

“As if that has stopped anyone before,” James muttered and John choked on his laugh as he saw the stricken face Thomas wore, before he pulled them both equally towards each other. They did let him lead, so John could press a quick kiss to both their cheeks.

“Stop sulking and make up. We all know you love each other,” he said, soft exasperation in his voice, as he gave them space to kiss. They did, but without letting go of his hands. Then Thomas pressed a kiss on his hairline after they separated. Not drawing back, he mumbled into John’s ear instead, “And you. We love you, too.”

They loved him, too. Something bubbled in his stomach and a smile appeared on his face, unbidden but welcome. Yes, they did love him, too. As he loved them.

* * *

Silence was something far-fetched for a tavern, no matter the hour, so John wasn’t surprised when he heard some faint mumbling coming from the main room. The Matthews were a well-liked family, their tavern a steady source of income and the beds warm. To give himself a little credit, he also found the meals tasted quite good.

Opening the door, he entered and was greeted with warmth brushing his cheeks. At a table close to the wall sat two people he’d never seen before, an older man and a young child. They were probably guests of some sort. Behind the bar, an old thing made of sturdy wood, stood Penny, the daughter of the Matthews and their barmaid. She was almost twenty, a fine young girl with golden hair and a friendly face. She was smart, knew how to entertain her guests, and reminded him a little of Eleanor. Without the bite and the hardness, but she had the same posture of efficiency and determination. Somewhere along the line, James had confessed he had had the same thoughts.

The tap room was bright and had a lot of windows allowing the light to filter in. The tables and stools and benches were made of the same wood as the counter, but Penny’s mother was good with her hands, and so there were more cushions lying around than John could count. They all had different colors and patterns, as Louise must have used whatever fabric was available. It was a nice place to work in and John was glad he had been offered the position as a cook.

“Well hello, isn’t that a lovely sight,” John greeted the girl and much to his amusement Penny blushed. Six months, and she hadn’t gotten used to John’s harmless flirting. She put down the tankard she had just dried and smoothed her hair out of her face. A nervous gesture that made her look younger than she was. It was cute and John knew many men adored her. A few years younger and without Thomas and James, John surely would have, too. But he was content with the way things were.

“Mr. McGraw, you’re flattering me,” she replied and cast him a glance before she looked away, then back at him. John laughed and shrugged, seating himself onto one of the bar stools. The crutch leaned against the counter.

“I’d say that was my intention,” he answered her truthfully and found delight in her blush becoming just a tone darker.

When the door to the back room opened, both looked up and saw a man, about fifty years of age, step in. He was tall and lean, with dark brown eyes, tanned skin, and blond hair. “Hello Daddy.” Penny smiled at him, and Mr. Matthews placed a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. It made John laugh how she tried to avoid it. Before she protested, she gave John a quick glance. “I’m too old for that.”

“No one’s ever too old for forehead kisses.” John chuckled. The affection that came so easily to the members of the Matthews family was something John had never experienced as a kid. It was good to see it could be different. He didn’t dwell on his own horrific childhood, not anymore at least. He rather reveled in the sight before him and in the knowledge that at home, Thomas and James treated him similarly.

“Listen to our John, Penny, he’s come far, he knows a thing or two you can learn from him.”

Charly -  Mr. Matthews that was - kissed Penny again, just to make a point, and then turned to John. “I’ve just received news that the old Donner’s celebrating her seventieth birthday in a two days’ time. Spouting nonsense all month that she wants a quiet evening, and then Ann comes in to tell half of Charleston’s joining. ‘t is as it is, just so you know it’ll be a bit rough the next week.”

Margarete Donner was one of the oldest members of their quiet little town, but healthy and nimble on her old bones. With her age and a mouth running faster than John’s, she beat him by miles when it came to story-telling, and John had to admit that even he didn’t always know what was true and whatnot. So far, he had found out that she was from England and had been one of the first frontiers to discover the New World. Then she’d fallen for a Gentleman, as she called him instead of using a name, and one thing had led to another. It was a story of heartbreak and pain, but also of fighting and making a life out of what was given to you. If only half was true of what Margarete Donner told, John admired her to bits and pieces. Though, he hat to admit, her granddaughter, Ann, didn’t have it easy with such a fierce grandmother.

“I survived the raging sea, Mr. Matthews, how bad can a dozen old celebrating ladies be?” John joked and slipped from his stool to finally make his way to the kitchen. He had better check his supplies and look for what was missing, if the tavern was packed this week.

With a clap on his back, John was sent off by the man, “I’ll ask you again after this week if you don’t want to be back on a ship. A dozen of the likes of old Maggy can be a handful.”

And this, John didn’t doubt.

* * *

Mr. Matthew hadn’t lied about the rise in customers, and in the evening, the tavern had been crowded. At some point John even had help from Louise, to manage the amount of orders. She had baked, cooked, polished dishes, and peeled potatoes. So many potatoes that for a moment, John had to stop himself before laughing out loud. Back at the Walrus, he had believed if he just got a share of the Urca Gold, he’d never peel potatoes again. Life was strange sometimes. Especially as voluntarily he did what he did and even found joy in it.

Joy, because it helped to provide for a home he shared with James and Thomas. For them, he’d peel a thousand potatoes each day.

Before most of the guests had arrived, John had found the time to eat something himself, and he was glad, because he hadn’t found a single second for himself after that. He usually took his plate out into the tab room to chat with the patrons. It was his favorite part of the whole job, and after a while people had started to gather around him to listen to his stories. As it drew customers, Mr. Matthews hadn’t complained; quite the opposite, somewhere along the line he’d slipped him to extend his break if there wasn’t too much to do. Of course, John being who he was, he’d jumped at the opportunity.

Today though he hadn’t found the time for many stories. The stream of new customers had been too great, and work had been calling for him. Using what little time he had, he’d rather talked with Downsman and had convinced him to work for James. Not that it took much convincing to make a man in need for money see that farm work likely brought more into one’s purse than one’s own dwindling offers. The next target John would focus on was Mr. Morris jr., who, to be honest, wasn’t that much of a junior anymore, but because his father was still alive, he’d likely never get rid of it.

The task was for another day, though and John looked around the kitchen, satisfied. He had cleaned the last pots and now leaned against the counter. His bad leg ached from overuse, and he settled down to get rid of his peg leg. He found it easier to have both hands free while cooking but preferred his crutch when walking longer distances. By now he left the peg leg in the tavern because he didn’t use it at home anyway.

Just when he had pinned his pants’ leg up, someone knocked at the door frame and John looked up to see Penny standing in the doorway. Her hair, which she held back with a tie, was tousled, and several stains were on her dress. With her flushed cheeks, she looked adorable. John really wondered why she wasn’t engaged to anyone.

“Just what a man needs after seeing pots all day,” he teased her and reached for his crutch to lift himself up into a standing position. He looked forward to get back home, to wash himself and maybe even convince James or Thomas to give him a thorough massage.

The words made the girl flush, as usual, but she fought it back and took a step into the kitchen. When John realized she was fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt, he wondered what was wrong.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and for a moment, silence engulfed them like a thick blanket. Then Penny seemed to steel herself before she spoke.

“Mr. McGraw, would you consider having tea with me one day?”

The question came unexpected and startled John in a way that he was lost for words. Gaping at Penny, he tried to order his thoughts. There was no doubt about her intentions. The question was a clear invitation to court her, and any other man surely would have been proud to have gained Penny’s attention. She was beautiful, cunning, smart, and, with her parents’ income securing her future, a very good match. Every man would be flattered. Yet, John was not every man.

After taking a deep breath, he finally gathered his wits and stepped back to lean against the counter.

“I’m deeply sorry, Penny, Ms. Matthews,” he corrected himself to be back on socially accepted terrain, “I’m well aware that your invitation means more than simply having tea,a and I assure you, I’m flattered, but it’s impossible.”

Her shoulders sagged and her smile faltered. It tugged at John’s heart but this was nothing he was sorry about. There was no way to tell her the real reason for his refusal, but even if there had been, Penny was a friend to him, a sister in a way, a sister he never had. He wouldn’t court her even without James and Thomas waiting at home.

He managed a smile and stepped towards the girl to put a hand onto her shoulder. Some stray tears rolled down her face, and it startled John to see so much emotion for him on someone else’s face. A part of him, small but still there, which was insecure, told him he wasn’t worth a single damn tear. Another part, one irritatingly close to Thomas’ voice, was louder - telling him to accept he was.

“I’m really sorry, but I assure you the pain will pass. You’re a beautiful woman, the sort that makes men do the most irritating things, like fight a war in your name. Your husband is waiting for you out there. In fact, I believe Mr. Lighton has been fancying you for a while now.” He knew he failed in his attempt to lighten the mood, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. Yet he lowered his voice to a more serious tone. “He’s out there, it’s just not me.”

Penny had started to look up at John during his little speech.  She'd lowered her head before, but now she was facing him, biting her lip. Her hands still held the edges of her dress, clenching and unclenching.

“Why not? If it’s…?” she said and her gaze flickered to his stump, gulping before she added, stubbornly, “I don’t care!”

It would have been a lie to say John wasn’t flattered, and something akin to gratitude, but stronger and more stricken, bubbled in his stomach. It robbed him of his voice before he eventually managed to speak again.

“It’s not my leg. I don’t think less of me because of it, and I value you don’t, either,” he replied, a part of his mind wondering when he had found the strength to say those words and mean them. At some point during the last six months he had changed into a different man. A man who valued himself and knew he was loved and cherished. A man worthy of who he was. It nearly knocked him off his feet, but he found his footing somehow and continued. “But…”

He faltered. It had been so easy to lie, in another lifetime, but to diminish his relationship with James and Thomas felt like a betrayal, no matter that he knew he had to lie convincingly here.

“I made an oath to someone and I don’t intend to break it,” John managed and fought the urge to reach for the wedding band he wore underneath his shirt. It wasn’t Madi’s. Madi’s wedding band was securely locked away in a little box in his drawer, next to the bed. John would always treasure the marriage with his queen, but he also acknowledged it had been over the moment he had ended the war. That part of his life had shaped him, but it was over. His relationship with Thomas and James, however, was only starting and John intended for it to last forever. At least if he had any say in it.

In the end, he still did reach for his wedding band and squeezed it through the fabric.

“I see,” Penny said slowly when she saw the movement. Her eyes stared at the place where his ring now lay against his chest. Only then she looked back at John’s face. “I didn’t know… I’m sorry, I’m sure she was a wonderful person.”

Something in Penny’s voice stirred John, and when he saw the apologetic twitch of her mouth, it occurred to him that she believed his former wife must be dead. It wasn’t true, but John didn’t intend to correct her. Surely the news would spread, and if the town believed he remained unmarried due to a long lost love, it was for the better.

“It’s nothing you have to be sorry for,” John said quietly and watched as Penny nodded once and then turned on her heels to leave the kitchen. For a moment John just stared at the now vacant spot, wondering if this truly had happened, but then rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. Suddenly he felt weary to the bones and all he wanted was to get home and fall into James’ and Thomas’ arms.

Yet when he looked back up, he found himself face to face with Penny’s father.

Gulping, John intended to speak to defend himself somehow, tell him that he hadn’t wanted to hurt the girl, but Mr. Matthews just rose a hand, smiling.

“Don’t,” he said with his warm baritone and John shuddered involuntarily. “It’s not your fault that my daughter chose a man already otherwise engaged. She’s young, and the young move from pain easily. As you said, other people are waiting for her.”

Something heavy dropped from John’s heart and he nodded, relaxing a bit. It would have been a wide shot, but men had been fired for less than breaking their superior’s daughter’s heart. It was a job he liked and he didn’t want to give up on it.

Giving a small smile, John brushed a stray lock out of his face. “It still pains me to see her so upset. I never intended to hurt her. I should probably tease her a little less for a while?”

John was granted an equal smile in return and another heavy weight fell - this time from his shoulders.

“I’d appreciate it,” Mr. Matthews said lightly, but then his eyes focused again, settling where the ring was hidden by his shirt. This time, pure white panic rose in John. It must have shown somehow because his spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a sigh.

“I know you’re quite fond of stories, John, but when I tell you this one I need you to promise you will keep it to yourself.”

John simply nodded, unable to say anything. It was maddening, but he couldn’t muster what else to do. There was fear in him of what would become of Thomas and James if their relationship was exposed. The two had gone through separation once, had endured the humiliation, the pain, the hardship. These two men he loved so much had once faced the reprisals of civilization, and John would never forgive himself if he brought the same fate upon them for a second time.

Mr. Matthews nodded in response and the silence stretched while he visibly tried to find the best way of starting this particular story. Then he walked into the kitchen and sat on the counter across from John.

“When I grew up, my best friend was a boy named John. Johnny lived right next to us, down the Almond Lane, in the last house. You know my old parents lived there for all their lives, bless their souls. His parents are already dead, but back then they were well-respected, and we always played together. We grew up together, being as close as possible, almost as if we were one single person. I told him about my parents’ fights and he told me his mother wouldn’t cook when his father drank too much.”

At this point a pause gave John the chance to look more closely at Mr. Matthews. Deep lines were edged into his forehead and he had wrinkles around his eyes. But they were fond as he spoke about his past, and a smile played around his lips.

“We were friends, for a long time. Then, one day, we met at our usual meeting place, down in the crops where no one would find us. On his face, I could see  something was wrong, and when I asked, he first didn’t want to tell me. I was hurt and he knew, so in the end he told me even though he hadn’t wanted to. He told me he had kissed Louise.”

Closing his eyes, John suddenly knew how the story would proceed. It was so easy to see, now, with all the knowledge he had about the world and her unusual way of meddling with things. Now, as he knew the story of Lord and Lady Hamilton and their Lieutenant. Now, as he was happy in a relationship with two men. He sighed, massaged his temples and looked back at Mr. Matthews.

He knew, and Mr. Matthews knew that he knew. And somehow John assumed that his superior also knew about Thomas and James and him.

“What happened?” John found himself asking. More because he had never heard of a boy named Johnny, and for fact knew that there was no third party involved in the Matthews’ lives.

“Life happened. I loved him, and he loved Louise, and Louise loved Johnny, and somehow, in a very wondrous way Louise loved me too and in an even more wondrous way Johnny loved me as well. We loved each other, and I was happy when they intended to marry. She was seventeen, he was nineteen, and I was eighteen. Then Johnny caught pneumonia.”

Something stricken wrapped around John’s heart and he gulped. Life had never been fair, and to make sense of it was impossible. This was no story with a happy ending because life usually didn’t grant happy endings. It granted possibilities and took them away if you were too slow to reach for them, or too weak to hold onto what was given to you. But something in the posture of the other, the way he held his shoulders and the way he looked at John, was different from the grief John knew. A grief that could destroy. This was… reminiscent in a way.

“He died,” John said, but rather to fill the silence because it was obvious he had. Mr. Matthews nodded.

“He died. But I spent wonderful years with him, and Louise is still by my side to remember the man we both loved. Penny doesn’t know, I’m not sure she would understand, but I told you because I wanted to show you that I don’t hold it against you that you rejected my daughter.”

With those words, Mr. Matthews hopped down from the counter, looking younger than John had ever seen him, a brightness in his face that radiated off him like sunrays. John wasn’t the person to try and find a meaning in one’s past, but maybe not all endings were bad, even if they were not quite happy either.

Before his employer could vanish through the door and he was alone again, John spoke up. “Mr. Matthews?” he said and was rewarded with the man turning towards him. He smiled.

“Call me Charlie. Really, John, Mr. Matthews makes me sound old.”

“I guess,” John replied, finally finding his cheeky grin again. It wiped away the last parts of the underlying sadness. “Thank you,” John added and Charlie just lifted his hand to indicate it was not worth mentioning.

“Give Mr. Barlow and the Captain my regard, and finally get back home. I’m sure in another minute James will be barging in here to demand your return.” Charlie smirked and even winked. It left John dumbstruck as he watched the other man leave, but when he was alone, he laughed until there were tears in his eyes. Still he hurried back home, unwilling to test Charlie’s theory. It tethered too close to the truth.


	2. nighttime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas wait for John to come home
> 
> thank you to uniwolfwerecorn for betaing

“James, Jesus Christ, sit down,” Thomas said indignantly, again. In fact, it was the fifth time he had said those words in one variation or another for the past half of an hour. James had chosen to ignore him then, and chose to ignore him again, because he knew he would go mad if he was bound to simply sit.

John was late and James hadn’t yet decided whether ripping his head off was a better alternative to embracing him and never letting go. Where was the stupid fool, and what took him so long to come home? It was close to midnight already, and there was no sight of him. One hour was explainable, maybe even two. But three? 

Not that James was worried or anything! At least that was what he told himself under his breath. He knew, though, that his pacing and his clenched fists spoke another language. He was worried. God, he was afraid!

If John wasn’t home in ten minutes, James would throw all caution to the wind. Damned be what it would reveal about him, his past or proclivities. With John hurt, it wouldn’t matter anymore anyway.

A small sound made him turn his head and he looked at Thomas, sitting idly at their settee in the parlor. A settee, its upholstery rather old, but well cared for, which they had sat on together countless times since John had fallen unconscious in front of their front door. It matched the armchair in front of  the fire place, and the small table that was clustered with pages and books Thomas had brought from the shop.

“Please sit,” Thomas said again and this time James looked a little more closely  at the man he loved deeply. Consumed by his own worry James hadn’t paid much attention to Thomas, whose stillness feigned he was perfectly at ease. Some strands of his sandy hair fell into his eyes and he brushed it away mindlessly. It was when James realized Thomas was far from being at ease. His hands shook slightly, his back was too straight, and his mouth was drawn into a thin line. How could he forget even for a minute how much Thomas loved John, too?

“I’m sorry,” James said softly and closed the distance between them to sit next to Thomas. Their knees brushed and James placed an arm around Thomas’ shoulders, drawing him in. The soft hair tickled his cheek before it fell heavy on his shoulders. In their current position, it was even more obvious how tense Thomas was.

“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Thomas mumbled, his voice stricken. Its tone revealed his deep concern for the third party of their shared lives. No matter the images which flashed in front of James’ eyes, he pressed a lingering kiss onto his lover’s hairline and mumbled a reassuring answer.

“Of course he is.”

There was no way James would tell Thomas of his fears, deeply rooted in his soul. About the constant nagging questions of how John had gotten his wounds when he had first arrived, of his own past he believed would seek him out in one way or another. They lived safely here, but a part of him was prepared for the run. Because of bandits, pirates, Nassau, or fucking England. Because people could find out…

… and then the sound of an opening door reached his ear. In an instant, the thoughts were wiped away and James got to his feet. He rushed to the door, his hand clenched into a fist until he saw John. The man stood in the hallway, the crutch under his arm, his hair neatly tied in a bun, a weary smile on his lips. He was unharmed, alive, and something dropped from James’ heart. With a heavy sigh, he opened his fist and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” John murmured, his blue eyes sparkling with concernin the dim light that filtered in from the sitting room. “I’m late.”

“Yes, you’re fucking late,” James replied sternly and then he had John in his arms. With his nose buried in the dark locks, smelling the scent of different dishes, James’ heart finally settled. The muscles on John’s back rippled when he shifted slightly to lean more firmly on James. Holding him, James took in all of what he felt and touched. The feel of the fabric under his fingers, the stump John tried to hook around his hips, the nails scratching the back of his neck slightly as John clung to him. He was solid in his arms and James thanked all the gods, the one he didn’t believe in and the sea he had so long abandoned, for having brought this man back to him. And bringing him back again and again.

“Thankfully you’re back,” another voice mumbled and James lifted his head just enough so he could look at Thomas’ face. From his point of view he could see how Thomas nosed at the nape of John’s neck softly. Fingertips brushed his sides as he slung his arms around John’s frame, too. There was no beginning nor end in their circle, just plain comfort. A sigh sounded lowly, stirring something in James’ chest, slowly dropping to his groin. John had tilted his neck slightly to grand Thomas better access. Thomas nipped along the curve of it. “I’d feared James would walk a hole into our parlor.”

A low growl showed James’ disapproval, but there was no bite in it. He had been worried and he was finally able to admit to it. To admit his worries, his feelings and emotions. To show his love. So he would.

Of course John chuckled. His hand snuck into James’ hair and gripped it, tilting James’ head. Allowing it, James let John pull him into a firm kiss, gentle and soft at first, but it quickly grew more heated. Every second willed his blood down to his crotch and he closed his eyes in surrender. His pelvis pressed forward and he could feel John was half-hard in his breeches. As was James, who wanted nothing more than to feel John under him.

“Take me to bed, please?” John breathed against his lips after they released their kiss. The heat in John’s voice and the desire in his blue eyes made James groan. There was nothing he wanted more, and with one swift movement he lifted John up. Legs wrapped around his hips and arms around his neck. John’s crutch clattered to the ground, but Thomas was swift to pick it up and lean over James’ shoulder to kiss John, too.

While their kiss lasted, James just held John close and secure. It was a sight to behold, to see their lips move against each other, just right next to his head. James could hear John breathe heavily through his nose, could see Thomas bite into John’s lower lip with force. In that exact moment John’s body pressed even tighter to his own, in a futile attempt to arch his back. Shuddering, James gripped John’s buttocks a little harder, and if he left fingerprints, well who really cared about that? Instead he enjoyed the hand that had snuck into his hair, long slender fingers pulling.

“If we don’t move, I promise I’ll fuck you two right here,” James growled, a sound coming from deep inside his throat, and finally they let go. Thomas led the way, opened the doors for them until they were in the master’s bedroom. All the while James’ gaze had been glued to Thomas’ broad back and his glorious, clothed butt, wanting the distracting fabric off. Not to mention that John’s cock rubbed against his with every step he took.

James spread John out onto the bed and covered his body with his. Mouthing up his neck, James had every intention to devour John until the man would dare to come back home late again. Or maybe all James wanted was to forget the last bits of his worry, replace them with pleasure and find peace. Find peace in John’s soft lips, in his eyes blown black by desire and in the way his fingers snug out from under their joined bodies to reach for Thomas, to hold onto him.

Nimble fingers loosened John’s buttons to discard his shirt, pulling open the strings on his breeches to draw out John’s glorious cock. With a grin, bright and hungry, James stroked John into full hardness, wanting him, needing him just like that. The head was red and thick, leaking steadily. It was a sight James would never tire of.

“God, Jam-mmh,” John moaned, but it ended in something incomprehensible because Thomas had taken it upon himself to replace James and kiss John instead. Thomas’ blond hair hid their faces, but the sounds the both made and John’s bucking hips were indication enough as to how exactly Thomas devoured John. For a moment, James just watched them, while his heart burst with fondness. This was what he wanted, needed and this, these two men, was what he would fight for, always.

The only fight ahead, however, was to make John come undone under their touches, and finally James gave into the urge to taste him. James sucked John’s cock down with his dry lips and had to hold him still when John bucked his hips uncontrollably. The coarse hair around John’s shaft tickled him, grazing his nose as he took him deep and deeper. The groan, this time fully audible, only spurred James on. He had more to give, more to present and he would strip off every layer of John’s doubts until John lay bare before him, and was ready to take what Thomas and James had to offer. So much love. So much devotion and fondness. So much. Just so much.

“Love,” Thomas said right next to James’ ear, and he let go to see Thomas held up a small vial of oil. It was visible in Thomas’ eyes that he had intended to give it to James, but it wasn’t for him alone to claim John. Their world was in balance when all three of them were together, no one excluded, not in any way.

“John, can you?” James asked, looking up the length of John’s body and for a second the sight took his breath away. Lean muscles and sweaty skin shimmered in the light of the few candles Thomas had lightened when they had entered the room. Propped up on his elbows, John’s upper body heaved and his face… _ god his face _ . James wanted to paint him. The messy curls fell loosely around his head, so James was sure Thomas must have discarded the hair band. The blue in John’s eyes was a thin line surrounding the black of his pupils, and his grin stretched wide and satisfying, mouth open just enough to show the tiniest bit of his white teeth. He was gorgeous, beauty come alive and James’ heart shattered into thousand pieces as he realized just how much he loved John. The man, not the pirate, or the thief, or the pirate king, just John, between him and Thomas. Where he belonged.

“Yes!” John answered, breathless, and bent his good leg. It brought him back to reality and James shifted to make space for Thomas, whose eyes became wide and blue and surprised. “Take me, Thomas. Make good on it.”

They shared a look, John and James. A quick meeting of their eyes, a soft grin and then John fell back into the cushions. He spread his legs a little wilder, the invitation clear, and Thomas took it. Covering his fingers with the oil, he kissed James sloppily before he inserted them, one by one.

“Oh yes, yes, just like that. Oh, Thomas, yes,” John moaned, a little louder with each inserted finger. Each thrust drew another sigh from him and James let the sounds wash over him and direct the blood through his veins into his cock. With eagerness he returned to the hard cock in front of his mouth, highlighting the music of John’s moans by drawing soft little keens in between. Fingers gripped his ginger mane, tugged and directed until the world around him faded into an unfocused blur.

* * *

“I can’t believe the Matthews had found themselves in a similar situation as we are,” Thomas said quietly and shook his head, as best as he could in the position he was in. With his chin resting on top of John’s curly hair and his body caged by James’ broad figure there wasn’t much space for him to move. Not that he wanted to. He quite enjoyed being surrounded by the men he loved, feeling them so close to his body. It was a relief to have them touch him, their skin on his. He needed it, the reminder that this wasn’t a dream, and next thing he’d wake up being back on the plantation, or worse, in Bedlam. Sometimes he couldn’t process his luck - not only had he found his truest love again, but he had gained another one as well. With idle movements, he drew pattern onto John’s thighs while his other hand rested on the small of James’ back. The man lay on his stomach, on top of Thomas. Well, at least on top of those parts that weren’t currently occupied by John, whose back rested against his chest. They were, of course, all naked.

Naked, spent, satisfied and utterly content.

John had just told them Mr. Matthews’ story. It had taken a while to get to the end of the story. First James hadn’t wanted to believe that Penny had made a move on John (Not because he didn’t believe she wouldn’t fall for him, but rather because John worked for her father.) and then Thomas himself had needed to kiss John to express what it meant to him that John had included him into his oath. (Sometimes it was still hard for him to accept that John loved both James and him. Thomas was aware he shouldn’t doubt it, after all, he wore a ring engraved with James’ and John’s names, as did they, but he also was aware of the history John and James shared. A history he could only knew in parts. Yet John had kissed him back in a fashion that revealed all his feelings, and they were many. There was no doubt left after the kiss had ended.)

“In London I believed it impossible to find someone else to share this way of loving…” Thomas added and trailed off, only for John to pick up the sentence.

“… and then you found James?”

“And then I found James,” Thomas mused, a small smile gracing his face. He looked at James, who chuckled, and his smile grew when his lips were touched in the gentlest of manner. A rush of fondness made his stomach tingle with butterflies. How could he still love his seafaring lieutenant/pirate captain/farmer after ten years like he had on the first day? So much had changed, but his love for James had never wavered.

Pressing a small kiss to the fingertips of James’ hand, Thomas savored the feeling before he went on speaking.

“I was quite certain to have found the only people on earth willing and able to love so freely and openly. The New World showed me I was mistaken. You,” Thomas’ hand pressed into John’s thighs, “and the Matthews, and this trio you mentioned...”

“You mean Bonney, Max and Rackham?” John said with a grin in his voice. He tilted his head slightly to try and catch Thomas’ eyes. While it didn’t work too well, a nudge of his head told John to continue. “I don’t think poor Jack had it easy with those two women.”

A snort maneuvered his attention back to James. “You shouldn’t talk too loudly.” And something must have crossed unspoken between them, because suddenly both started to laugh whole-heartedly, making Thomas’ body vibrate with the laughter. The feeling was magical, reassuring and happy like nothing else. He savored it and decided to postpone asking what John had done to elicit this laughter. One day, Thomas wanted to hear all the stories, all the embarrassing, happy, sad and hurtful moments James hadn’t been able to share without John by his side. But not today.

Silence developed after the shared laughter had died down, until John broke it with soft mumbled words.

“I felt so sorry to hear their Johnny had died. It must have been awful,” he said, his voice growing more quiet with each spoken word. Thomas almost had to strain his hearing to understand him, but the night granted them their tranquility. What low noises carried through the windows and walls seemed far away. “I’m…”

John’s voice broke and all he couldn’t say revealed what he wanted to say. Confessions of the deepest sort lingered in those unspoken words, drowned out by the rising emotions. Without much thought, Thomas shifted and pressed the smaller body close. His arms wrapped around John’s frame, and through the strong grip he noticed the quivering. Meanwhile, James had shifted as well, and now knelt between John’s and Thomas’ legs to hold John’s face in both hands.

“Hush,” Thomas could hear James say. “No one’s going to die, John. You saved us all from our own tragedy. It’s not happening.”

There was so much conviction in James’ voice that Thomas would have believed him, even if it had it been a lie. But it wasn’t. It was the truth, a truth they all could live in.

“You should not -,” John tried to articulate while his voice wavered. It was clear he fought to hold back tears. Tears Thomas wouldn’t allow to flow.

“Yet we do. We love you, and you’re a part of us. Believe it or not, but this isn’t about to change,” Thomas said softly into his ear and he could feel John tense under him. When Thomas realized John wanted to turn around, he gave him room to do so.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” John said and then sobbed. It made Thomas blink. He blinked again, unable to respond because there was so much raw pain in John’s blue eyes. It suddenly appeared to him what James had meant when he had said John hadn’t known love until now. Not like this. Not with the sincerity he experienced through James and him. Not with the safety of it to last. So he brushed a stray lock out of John’s face before he kissed him tenderly. Then, against John’s lips and into his beard, he mumbled, “Yes, I know. Too much sanity may be madness — and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!”

The answering kiss was searing and burned on Thomas’ lips like a hot flame flickering in the night. It felt so good. Like the darkness illuminated.

“I really do have a type,” James said into the silence, almost dryly, though the affection was clearly audible in his voice. “I’m not sure what to make of falling in love with two madmen.”

Yet, the laughter that followed those words was even brighter. It rung like daylight, like the sun that would always return for the next day. It shined in the way John and Thomas simultaneously stretched out a hand to draw James in.

* * *

The next day went by in a blur. The amount of guests for old Maggy’s birthday had increased John’s work tenfold. Somewhere around when he’d usually take a break, he realized his bad leg hurt, but shoved the pain aside. Dishes piled up in front of him, wished to be cleaned, the orders came flying in rapidly and he wasn’t sure if they’d run out of clean plates before the end of the day. Somewhere between one order for roasted potatoes and pork, and a call for more bread, Louise came in to help him. Two minutes later, she shoved him down onto a stool and made him eat something. He didn’t even notice her question about whether he had eaten dinner. One second he stood, and the next the was sitting with a plate in front of him.

“Forget the guests out there,” she told him, watching the pots and pans sizzling on the fire, “It won’t help anyone when you drop unconscious because of a lack of food in your belly.”

Between one bite and the other, he hummed his agreement, got a huff and returned to his meal. The first bite had made him realize how hungry he was, and he wolfed the food down. Before he could stand up, though, Louise gave him a sharp look that reminded him too much of James’ angry face to disobey. The woman could be downright scary, and a part of his brain conjured how she must have handled her future husband and second lover in her younger years.You didn’t fuck with Louise Matthews unless you absolutely had to.

Yet, the moment the fiery woman was out of the kitchen, John was back up to do his duties. The next time he was aware of something other than orders and cooking food was when Penny peeked in, telling him they had closed the tavern. Exhausted lines on her face and the half-lidded eyes made John forego to comment on yesterday’s discussion between them. He thanked her politely and she nodded in a similar manner, before she left him.

One hour was all John managed before he gave up cleaning the kitchen and decided to do the rest in the morning. The quivering of his legs and the ache in his back told him that he wouldn’t accomplish anything else today. He probably had to come in earlier than usual, but it wouldn’t take more than a couple of days to go back to his usual routine.

It was dark when John left the tavern to make his way home. It wasn’t far, a twenty minute’s walk, maybe thirty because he decided to take it slow. James and Thomas knew he would be late and had promised him to not worry. A part of John knew that they would worry anyway, until he was home, but at least he was pretty sure James would forgo his impatient pacing this time.

A smile slipped on his face and he allowed it. Yesterday evening had shown him again how much he had gained from seeking out James. The love he was given from both James and Thomas took him by surprise every day. It filled him with a richness his life had previously lacked . All the gold in the world couldn’t make up for it. Not a single part of him missed Long John Silver, or all the former roles he had played to survive. He might still be a cook, but he wasn’t a thief anymore, no pirate, and definitely no loner. He was John McGraw, and he was loved by James and Thomas Barlow.

Tilting his head, he watched the starry sky. The black velvet was covered with thousands of diamond spots, blinking down on him and watching the earth from afar. They were beautiful, the way they framed the crescent moon. For the first time in a long while he allowed himself to gaze at them without seeking familiar constellations to guide his way.

Engrossed in the view and careful to not to stumble while thumping along the street, John was startled when he heard a crack in the distant. His neck ached when he turned his head a little too quickly, but it was too dark to see anything. Yet a dark feeling slipped under his skin and raised goosebumps. Unbidden, his hand wandered to his hip, where he had carried a sword for years. None was there.

Straining his eyes, John tried to see something, anything unfamiliar or different, yet all he could distinguish was the butcher’s house, and behind that the familiar bushes and trees of Mrs. Darry’s garden. He shook his head, and the eerie feeling faded. He was beginning to be too suspicious, and was probably only tired after the day he had had. Only two more days, and things would quieten down. John was glad about it.

Still, he didn’t take more time to watch the night sky and hurried to get home. Letting Thomas and James wait any longer would be rude, but part of John knew it was just something he told himself to calm himself down. Someone who had survived being a king to pirates and waging a fucking war against civilization shouldn’t freak out over shadows in the night. The thought startled a laugh out of John. What a fool he was.

When he reached his home and slipped inside, he had mostly shed the feeling of danger that lingered at the back of his neck. As the door clicked shut behind him, he could hear a rustling sound before soft footsteps echoed through the hall. Bleary-eyed and with a blanket drawn over his shoulders, James looked outright adorable.

“I fell asleep,” he mumbled into the darkness, his voice cracking with sleep. “Thomas did, too.”

“You could have gone to bed,” John protested weakly, but he knew there was too much admiration in his tone to sound indignant. He pressed a kiss to James’ lips before he turned to the parlor. In front of the simmering fire that was only ashes and coal, Thomas snored slightly, lying bent on the too-small settee. His poor back would ache tomorrow.

As silently as he could, John walked up to the man and stroked a strand of blond hair from his face. It was a shame to wake him, but the man would thank them in the morning. Gently shaking him, John cracked a smile when Thomas groaned, eyelids fluttering. Meanwhile James stood next to John, waiting for Thomas to stand up. He was more asleep than awake, and it didn’t need much to coax them both to bed and delay any talking.

When two pairs of arms closed around him, strong and secure, John was finally able to get rid of the eerie feeling altogether. There was no safer place than between James and Thomas, and his own exhaustion dragged him to sleep.


	3. fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John recognizes someone in the crowed he wished to never see again.

“Happy Birthday, Maggy,” John said with a bright grin on his face and kissed her on both cheeks. “Looking good as ever. How old are you again? Twenty?”

The old lady wore more gray than brown streaks in her hair and her face was wrinkled. Her laugh, however, was cocky and young, and she slapped John on the back of his head with ease. While her brown eyes sparkled good-heartedly, the other ladies around them cheered.

“Now, you’re a rascal, aren’t you John?” she said, and his smirk grew even wider. “I’d known a man once, just like you, with the same mischief in his eyes. Was a good man, wild in bed! Oh, he was, very sensual… of course that was before I met my Gentleman. But you know a girl enjoys herself. I’m sure you make women happy, John.”

Old Maggy would have kept talking, John was sure, hadn’t a very familiar laughter from behind interrupted her. With burning cheeks and a red-tainted face he turned to see the amusement in James’ and Thomas’ faces.

“Well, Maggy, I assure you our John here was the talk of every port we anchored in,” James mused and slung an arm around his shoulders. Slender fingers found his forearm and squeezed. A shudder ran down John’s spine, the pressure and the warmth next to him an intoxicating combination, especially as they were surrounded by a good fifty people. Margarete Donner had more friends than being good for her own well-being. Or for John’s.

Something glinted in her eyes and a quick smirk crossed her face. Hadn’t John stood so closely and looked at her that exact moment, he’d probably missed it. Yet something told him Margarete knew more about their preferences than she let on. Was there actually anyone in this town who wasn’t aware of his relationship with James and Thomas?

“Captain, I bet you’re well aware of what you’re talking about,” she countered and again, heat flashed in John’s cheek. Fortunately, he couldn’t get any redder than he already was. Meanwhile, James had the decency to look not even remotely flustered. Thomas, that bloody traitor, only snickered.

“I needed to know what my crew was doing,” he replied smoothly and then leaned down to kiss Maggy’s palm. “Happy Birthday.”

One day James would be the end of him, John knew. The way he glanced at him out of the corners his green eyes was a downright tease and he knew it. As was the deliberate brush of his hand, when he preteneded to use John for balance to straighten up. As if John was of any use when it came to find one’s footing!

“Ladies,” John announced, after he had watched Thomas take his turn to congratulate old Maggy. “I would love to keep talking to you, but I’m afraid the pastries don’t bake themselves. Yet I’m sure our Mr. Barlows here will keep you good company.”

Followed by some mournful good-byes, John left the tap room to maked his way back into the kitchen. It was outright packed by now, each and every guest had arrived eventually and just as Thomas and James, the town’s folk was making their appearances, as well. The tavern was open all day and night, and Margarete Donner was well-liked. People would come by for at least five minutes.

When the kitchen door closed behind John, he took a deep breath. The noise filtered through the walls, but it was quieter, and he had space to move. Touching his cheeks, he felt how hot they were and he tried to quench the fluttering in his stomach. The green of James’ eyes was branded inside of him like a mark.

Leaning against the counter, John regarded the room. He took in the pans and pots, the dried herbs that gathered on one of the counters, partly from the Matthews’ garden, partly from James’. He had already chopped most of the vegetables, had prepared the pastries, and all that was left to do was the actual cooking. Before he started, though, he reached for his mug and took a swig of water to moisten his dry throat. James was a bastard… but he was Thomas’ and John’s bastard… and if he continued this particular trail of thought, he wouldn’t get any cooking done anytime soon.

Snorting, John put the mug aside and got to work.

The next time, he would be able to enter the tap room, James and Thomas would be gone. They had work to do, too.

* * *

He had worked non-stop and his stomach growled, demanding to be fed. Thankfully, John could hear singing from the tap room, which, he figured, meant the birthday cake was to be presented. Not baked by him, thank you very much. He was glad he could cook, but baking was not his cup of tea.

There was a faint knock at the kitchen door and Penny peaked inside. “You should take the opportunity to eat something,” she mumbled and disappeared again. John sighed. He knew she was right. He also knew she still had to stomach his refusal. Those things took time, he was aware. Nevertheless, it didn’t sit well with him. Penny was young, and the sadness in her eyes didn’t suit her.

He arranged a plate for himself and took it into the tap room. Nimbly he sat on a stool at the counter, and peeked at the bunch of old ladies, singing Happy Birthday cheerfully. Marzipan roses decorated the cake, as well as cream. Absentmindedly he smiled around the bites of his chicken pie.

“It’s a sight, isn’t it?” a voice sounded next to him and John turned to face Charlie who slid into the free stool next to him. He wore an apron around his waist, his hair was tousled and his eyes gleamed. John nodded in reply.

“Never seen such a monstrosity of a cake. Who made it?” John asked, and Charlie pointed at Ann. Surprised, John’s eyes flew open. “I didn’t know she could bake?”

It made Charlie snort. “I think there’s a lot we don’t know about Ann. It’s hard to raise your voice when your grandmother is always talking.”

Which was true. Maggy had already started to tell a tale about the first time she had tasted marzipan, going on and on. If she didn’t stop soon, the guests would never be able to eat their cake. John would try to remember to congratulate Ann on it, tomorrow.. Someone had to.

John propped his arm on the counter, leaning forward to take weight off his leg. His eyes swept over the crowd, wondering what their stories were. The lady next to Maggy? A close friend of hers, possibly. Maybe the one she claimed had come with her to the New World all those years ago? Or the young mother with her baby. Surely her husband was working hard to feed the family. Maybe… well no. He wasn’t absent, he had just brought them something to drink and sat back down at their table.

John smiled and continued to watch the crowd. A flash of red hair… and suddenly something in his throat constricted, his breath leaving his lungs as he leaned forward to get a better glance. When he saw he wasn’t mistaken, something heavy settled in his chest, and he froze.

“No,” he breathed, coldness enveloping him, chilling him from the inside out. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be! What was _he_ doing here? What was _Hands_ doing here?

Panic rose in him. Blinding, white-hot panic and for a moment all John could do was grip the counter so hard that his knuckles turned white. Breathing heavily through his nose, but trying not to catch any attention, he fought to keep his composure. But it was hard. It was so hard, because all he could think of was that Thomas and James were in danger.

They had settled here. James and Thomas had found peace here. After years and years of separation, tragedy and heartbreak they had found their safe haven. Hands could destroy it all in a second, take away what John had fought so hard to achieve. Hands could hurt them. He would hurt them…

He wanted to know where the cache was. John knew, so suddenly and with such an unwavering conviction that he started to shake.

“John?” Charlie asked next to him and pulled him out of his reprieve. With concern Charlie looked down at his white knuckles and his shaking form. The he followed John’s line of sight to find out what he was looking at. It was the moment John realized he had to do something. No one was going to deal with Hands and his old crew other than him. It was his fault they were here. It was his fault, so he would deal with it.

“It’s nothing,” John replied curtly and slipped from his stool. The movement made Charlie focus on him again. Glad that his boss hadn’t seen Hands, John pushed even further from the counter. For now it would be best to pretend he had to get back to the kitchen. Not that he had time for cooking after Hands had appeared in his tavern.

This tragedy wouldn’t happen, John promised himself. Hands and James would not meet. Thomas would not be involved in the mistakes of his past. Charlie and his family would not find out they employed a pirate. No one was going to be reported the navy. It wouldn’t happen, none of it. They would be safe.

John swore to himself he would make it so.

From one second to the next something shifted, and a mask was in place. Long John Silver stood in the crowded tap room. Long John Silver, reborn. Long John Silver was back, and he was furious!

* * *

“Gentlemen,” John murmured quietly, dangerously. He slipped onto the last empty stool at the table in the corner where Hands sat. A bunch of other men Silver was quite certain were the worst fellows of his former crew sat with him. Every single one of them was a character no one would want to meet at night and yet, John registered how they tensed at his arrival. They had believed him dead.

Now he was a ghost risen from the grave.

The only one who stared at him, unblinking, and had from the moment he was spotted, was Hands. Something blazed hidden beneath his eyes, but John couldn’t decipher what it was, other than danger. Danger radiated from Hands like light from a fire.

“Long John Silver,” Hands spat, and his expressions twisted, before he had himself back under control. It revealed a lot about the man who had once been loyal to John. It revealed that he no longer was.

Taking a closer look, John realized the state Hands was in. His hair was longer, but matted with salt and dirt. He wore neither his swords nor his belt, but his shirt showed he usually did. The fabric was bleached from the sun and the wind, but there was a darker stripe where the belt usually sat. Shadows under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and he wore even more scars than John remembered. Hands had miraculously become captain and he had fought hard to gain it. He was probably still fighting to keep the position. Hence this encounter.

“Long John Silver is dead. Haven’t you heard?” John grimaced and forced a smile that felt fake, but he knew was shining and brilliant. It fooled the men, who flinched. It didn’t seem to fool Hands, though, because his mouth formed to a thin line. “I’m just the cook, and I’m here to inform you that this is a birthday party, which I recall you weren’t invited to.”

“Where is he?”

The question was almost a growl, and unfortunately, Silver knew who Hands meant. It was hard to not let his smile falter, to not reach out and force his once loyal boatswain to get the fuck out. The urge to grab the hem of his shirt, shove him against the wall and spit into his face bubbled strongly in his stomach. John wanted nothing more than to make the man leave once and for all. But it would reveal that James was indeed here, and John would not put the men he loved into such danger.

Instead of lashing out, he cocked one eyebrow and leaned back slightly. “If you mean the birthday child, old Maggy is the one with the knife in hand, surrounded by all her friends.” He even nodded into the direction of where the elder lady stood and watched with joy as many of the men followed his gaze and shuddered. A bunch of old ladies, and hardened pirates cowered like small children. “I hope you brought a present. It’s impolite to intrude without one.”

It might have been his words, or the way John hadn’t truly answered Hand’s question. Whatever it was aggravated Hands enough to slam his fist on the table. A few of the men jerked, while John didn’t bat an eye. He wasn’t going to show any fear, and a threat wouldn’t change it. Yet he knew they aroused attention, something John desperately wished to avoid.

“Fuck you, Silver. Where is Flint?” Hands said, anger permeating his voice like steel. The man never had been one for words. Especially not silver-tongued ones. Not that John really cared.

“He drunk himself to death in Savannah. If you’re looking for his grave, I have to tell you it’s south east from here.” John grinned, partly because of how easy it was to rile the other man up, partly to conceal his worry. His assumptions that Hands wanted to find James, to most likely torture the location of the cache out of him had just been confirmed. While the other men started to furrow their brows, Hands’ hand shot out, and before John could help it, gripped his shirt to pull him halfway across the table.

“Don’t try to fool me, I know better,” he growled but stopped suddenly and with a heave John slumped back onto his stool. Sweat rolled down his temple and he made a fist, trying not to reveal that he was shivering. Showing fear was the last thing he would do. Hands could never know James was here. Whatever the cost, this was John’s problem, his own doing, and he would stop it.

Yet he hadn’t much time to think of a reply. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Penny approach. A silent curse escaped his lips that managed to make Hands raise an eyebrow. The shit-eating grin he wore promised no good, but John couldn’t think too much about it before the young woman arrived.

“Mr. McGraw,” she said, voice shaking, and it was obvious she was afraid of the men John sat with. Rightfully so. Unfortunately, not too afraid to stay away. “Do these men -?”

John didn’t let her finish the sentence, but interrupted her with what hopefully resembled a reassuring smile. “These men were looking for accommodation, but I had to tell them we have no room because of old Maggy’s birthday. I suggest they go and look elsewhere before it gets dark.”

He received some bewildered stares, but John didn’t pay them much attention. His focus was on Penny. The girl was better off if she didn’t interrupt or spoke too much. When she had called him McGraw, Hands had lifted an eyebrow, and with horror John realized that the man knew James’ last name. Hands had been present when James had visited Nassau as a Navy man. A fact John hadn’t considered when he had adopted his name. He had been firm in his belief that the only other people alive to make the connection were Thomas and James himself. Not that he could fault Penny for it. The girl hadn’t known about any of this. It was all his own fault.

“Would they like something to drink?” Penny asked, far too polite for the situation at hand. John had to fight the urge not to scream at her to leave. Instead he pushed himself up and forced his smile. With an arm around Penny’s waist, clearly protective, he stated, “No, they were just going to leave.”

His eyes were hard as steel, but only when Hands moved to stand did the rest follow. A year ago these men had obeyed his every word without question, had put their lives on the line to serve their Pirate King. Things had changed, but John couldn’t say he missed those times. He had loved his brothers on the Walrus. He had loved being a part of Flint’s crew, but God, he didn’t miss being captain. He didn’t miss being on sea. He didn’t miss those men in front of him. Not a single one of them. Not even Hands. Especially not him.

But he missed James and Thomas. Dearly. No matter that they were in the same village. No matter that what separated them was a few minutes’ worth of walk. In one moment their established lives and their hard-fought peace had become as thin as a thread - a thread that could snap any moment. A thread that was currently held by Hands.

* * *

Eventually Hands and his men left, but John hadn’t managed to get rid of the anger and fear bubbling in him. He felt their presence in every movement he made. The red of the carrots he chopped were Hands’ hair, the skin of the potatoes like the skin of his face. Stirring the soup felt like stirring their lives, and he had to stop himself from throwing his mug at the wall several times. Whatever he did, it reminded him that Long John Silver was a terrible cook but a murderous thief. A person he didn’t want to be anymore, but had to be in order to protect the people he loved.

Time didn’t flow. The night was long, longer than the previous two had been. Old Maggy knew how to celebrate, stretched everything out into all eternity. Usually John wouldn’t mind. He loved to see the old lady happy and surrounded by her friends. But now, after the encounter with Hands, he longed to move on. To do something. He wasn’t sure what exactly, but John knew he had to. Something had to be done about Hands, or else everything he cherished would be destroyed.

It was late, long past midnight, when John could step out of the kitchen. His whole body was shivering, exhausted but alert. A combination that allowed him to stay upright, but didn’t do anything to ease his aching muscles. All the tension had stiffened his limbs, and he was in pain. A pain he didn’t acknowledge. He could complain another day.

Silence echoed in the empty tap room. It was an eerie feeling after the loud noises from the crowd had filtered through the walls. When he heard a noise, he whirled around and thankfully stopped himself from lashing out at Penny in the last second. His heart beat wildly between his ribs and his chest heaved. He closed his eyes to calm himself. The girl had just wanted to get his attention.

“Mr. McGraw, are you okay?” she asked. Her voice wavered and tethered John to the present. He opened his eyes and nodded slowly. To not let his smile seem fake, he dug deep into his soul. Somewhere, pushed aside by his past, was John McGraw, who treasured Penny’s friendship and wished for her well-being. He had to remind himself who he truly wanted to be and therefore was.

“I am,” he said and then took another deep breath. It helped to make his smile more sincere. “I am!”

The truth was, he was far from okay, but Penny couldn’t know. All he had been able to do the last few days was hurt her. His refusal still tore at her, he could see it in the way she stepped back to not intrude into his personal space. Before, they had been able to laugh together and share casual touches. Suddenly John realized what those touches must have done to her loving heart, and accepted her need for space. Back on the Walrus it had had torn him open to be so close to James and not be able to _be_ with him.

John understood. It was not easy, but he understood.

“Did you wait for me to lock up?” he asked, to steer the discussion away from his own well-being to some safer topic. It would help both of them, and honestly it was quite late. Penny was a woman and no child anymore, but even she should go to bed at this late an hour.

Penny swallowed, and John could see how her Adam’s apple bobbed. A shadow washed over her face and she looked away while her head dropped slightly. Something heavy wrapped around John’s heart but he fought it. Things would turn back to normal once the girl had moved on. Heartbreak wasn’t forever. Not when you were young and unaffected by life. At least it was what John had to believe. He wasn’t the best example on how to deal with heartbreak.

“I offered it to Mama and Dad, to speak with you.”

Taking a step forward, John lifted his hand, but Penny stepped back simultaneously. His hand fell back to his side. The corners of her lips turned into a smile, but he knew what it looked like when it was just pretense. John himself had often had to fake a smile. In order to not make any further startling, unwanted movements, he reached for the next stool and sat down.

“Listen, I’m … I don’t know how to express how sorry I am that I cannot return your feelings. You’re –” John started but was interrupted.

“You don’t have to,” Penny interjected and cut him off. Her voice was light, like a feather in the wind, but strong enough to float through the air nonetheless. John’s voice fell away and he watched her in the flickering light of the few lamps that still illuminated the tavern. Her blonde hair shimmered golden, and by God, she was no Eleanor Guthrie and she definitely wasn’t Madi, but John still wished for her happiness as if he had known her all his unspectacular life. If he could ask for a sister, a little sister to protect, it would be her.

“You don’t have to apologize. I can’t demand your love and I wouldn’t want to. After… I talked with my Dad and he made me realize that love needs to be given freely. One day there will be a man to love me, like I love you right now, and I will love him in return. Just not now. And while a part of me will always love you, I’m certain it won’t stop me from loving my future husband fully and truly, how I am supposed to. Only you and I have to deal with the tiny part of my heart that belongs to you, and I know it’s in good hands.”

Penny’s voice had become soft and filled with belief. Every word had reverberated as if she truly believed in what she said, and John couldn’t stop a tear from running down his face. All his life he had sought love, not knowing what it was, but still sought it unintentionally. When he had been part of the Walrus crew, surrounded by men that looked up to him, he had believed this camaraderie to be the only sort love he’d ever get. He’d ever deserve.

But now, years later, he stood in a tiny tavern in a small town in the outskirts of Savannah and he realized that whatever he had experienced back then had only been a glimpse of what love truly meant.

He was so glad he had come here to seek James out.

“I will treasure it,” he whispered, abashed by the emotions that flooded him. “I promise.”

It was a promise he intended to keep, because he knew how precious it was to hold a piece of another person’s heart, even a tiny one. He would take care of it, as he took care of Thomas’ and James’ hearts. Sometimes it was painful, but he had never felt more alive or happier than now, after he had arrived here to love and be loved.

“I know,” Penny said, and this time, her smile was honest. But it fell away quickly and the seriousness in her face startled John. Whatever she wanted to talk about hadn’t left her mouth yet. As always when Penny was nervous, she clutched her dress. But all these signs didn’t prepare John for the question she asked.

“Did those men threaten you?”

He was so awestruck, he couldn’t answer immediately. Running the words through his mind, John had to murmur them, before he realized their true meaning.

“Did they threaten me?”

Whatever he had believed she would ask, this wasn’t it. The statement was disturbingly accurate and showed how much she cared about him. A care that John hadn’t expected from someone other than James or Thomas. Why did Penny go out of her way for him?

A part of him wanted to fall to his knees and sob, but all John managed was a choked dry laugh. “I… well I…” His mind was blank. As practiced a liar as he was, right now he was at a loss for words. So all that was left to say was the truth. “I guess so.”

Her mouth drew into a thin line, her hands falling away from her dress. “You guess so?” Anger laced her voice. “One of them dragged you over the table top!”

Panic gripped him again, hearing the words. John had never wanted Penny to see this side of him, the side that wore the mask of Long John Silver, and yet she had. Only glimpses, but it was enough to frighten John. What would she think if the truth came out? What would happen to him, and worse, what would happen to James and Thomas? No one could learn the truth about James’ past as Captain Flint. After all the struggle and fighting James had found peace, here, with Thomas. John wouldn’t let that be shred to pieces.

If he moved… ran away and led Hands and the men away from here…

_“But if you think I will forgive you for sneaking away in the middle of the night and breaking my and Thomas’ heart you’re fucking mistaken!”_

The words crushed him and tore his heart into thousand pieces. He didn’t want to run away, but what if it was the only way?

_“You said it yourself, there is always a way!”_

James would never forgive him. John would never forgive himself for breaking James’ heart, and Thomas would be distraught. No, running away was no option. There had to be another way, there was always a way. It was a credo John had lived after his entire life. This wasn’t the time to stop. He would find another way.

“John?” Penny exclaimed, and he only recognized the worry in her when he looked up. His head had fallen to his chest, the thoughts maddening, and only when he gripped his crutch tighter he realized that he was shivering. In her despair, Penny had stepped closer, forgotten the need to keep a distance in the light of fear.

“They are pirates, Penny." The truth spilled out, part of it anyway - what he really wanted to say was, _I'm a pirate, Penny._ He wasn’t sure if it yet counted for him. Once John had been a better liar, but not today. “I have no idea what they want, so far from the sea, but I told them to leave.” A half-lie, only. It really wasn’t his best performance.

She paled a bit more with each spoken word and guilt settled neatly next to the panic that already consumed John. It was his fault that Hands was here, and it was his fault Penny was afraid, Thomas and James were in danger and things were getting out of hand. Because he hadn’t been careful enough when he had come to seek James out. Dying once, twice, hadn’t been enough.

If this was about the map, he would walk up to James, ask him to draw the damn thing and bribe Hands to leave him alone forever. Once the cache was found he would be free. Not that James would be convinced so easily, but John was confident he could manage. Somehow…

Surely there was a way he could make James draw the map without telling him why exactly John needed it.

With straightened shoulders he pushed himself up, just as Penny slumped down on a stool herself. Biting his lower lip, John stepped closer. Now that he had something that resembled a plan, he got a grip on himself. With a careful movement, he pushed a loose strand out of Penny’s face. The touch didn’t linger. It was meant to soothe, not to hurt, and in a way, it gave him conviction that his words would become reality.

There was always a way, and this was his.

“All will be well. It’s not the first time I have faced pirates, and there is no reason for them to be here, so they will leave soon enough. Go to bed, and tomorrow they’ll be gone.”

Her eyes met his and while John was sure she was still uncertain, a part of her had to trust him enough, because she nodded. Given the space to move, Penny stood, a little shaky, but she stood. Fortunately, it was late enough for her – and for him as well if he was honest with himself – to fall to bed and sleep without much time to worry herself sick. Exhaustion would drag her into the land of dreams quickly.

“I’ll see you out,” she mumbled and even yawned, holding a hand before her mouth to hide it. Despite the situation it made John crack a smile. Somewhere deep in the pockets of her dress she found the key and walked to the door. Some steps behind her, slowed down by the crutch as always, John followed and watched as she opened the door.

“Stay s-,” she started, and before she could finish the sentence, John saw the shadow. Shock made him unable to move as he watched, horrified, how a hand gripped Penny’s hair to tug her back while another placed a dagger at her throat. The shriek that had left her throat died away, only whimpers following. She stumbled when she was pushed in roughly, men following like a swarm of bees.

It was Hands who had grabbed Penny and was now holding the knife to her throat. With him all the other men from this afternoon came strolling into the tavern, as well as several others John had never seen before. A quick count told him they were eight altogether, armed with pistols and swords, while his only weapon was his crutch. Even with two healthy legs he’d never stand a chance.

The men’s grins were mad, and the frustration and anger that rushed through John pulled him out of his shock. To show emotions would not do him or Penny any good, so he held his ground, knew that showing fear would lead to their doom. But the grip on his crutch tightened to the point of pain and his swift smile turned into a grimace.

“John!” Penny exclaimed, her body squirming under the tight grip. Before John could reply her head was tugged back hard. A whine left her throat and John growled, furious.

“Fucking let her go,” he said, his words harsh and directed at Hands, who had a crazy glint in his eyes. It made him look even more unhinged than John remembered. But while he’d once thought he knew the man, he was now reminded that he was painfully mistaken. It wasn’t Penny’s fault, yet she had to suffer because of him.

“She’s lovely. I think we’ll keep her,” Hands said, lowering his mouth to her ear, and John could see her full-body shiver. The pictures running through his mind were horrible, sick and twisted. If he felt the urge to puke already, John couldn’t imagine how Penny must feel. Images of blood and gore and screams filled his head, too close to a past he never wanted to remember. The sound of his – he cut the image off.

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on her,” John growled but was interrupted with a sudden, harsh laughter. It echoed in his ears.

“Or what?”

Hands eyed him and then shoved Penny even further into the room and towards him. She whimpered, and it was a painful sound. She was afraid, and John could do nothing to soothe her worries. He was the cause of it.

“You’re not one to rape an innocent woman,” John tried to stir the conversation, tried to find reason. Hands killed mercilessly, didn’t care if it was a woman, a child, a cripple. But he didn’t rape. He wasn’t one for torture. His methods were fast and harsh. John knew, John had seen him kill people, had ordered him to kill people. But rape. Hands was not one to rape. Yet he knew some of the other men were. The way they leered at her told John as much. Under his command they hadn’t been allowed to touch a woman against her will. But now… he hated to admit that Penny wasn’t safe from rape, if he fucked this up. He couldn’t let it come to that.

Not this time. Not at all. Never again.

“You don’t want her. You want me.” He spoke with as much a neutral tone as possible, even though the implication of his own words made his heart beat faster. His stomach churned, his mouth went dry. Images flashed before his inner eye, but he ignored them. Only when Penny stared at him, mouth agape and eyes seeking his, his determination wavered.

“John, what?” she whispered but Hands pressed the dagger even closer to her throat and picked her skin so that a little blood trickled down. It silenced her efficiently, but John had to swallow down the whimper himself. The red of the blood held a stark contrast to Penny’s unscathed skin.

“You want to know where the cache is,” he said to keep Hands from doing something unpredictable.

“You don’t know where it is,” Hands growled in reply, but John knew the only way out of this was to keep talking. So he did. He was good at talking.

“Just because I never told you doesn’t mean I don’t know. Flint and I were of one mind, we were partners. Of course I know where he buried it. He told me.”

It pained him to see how Penny became more scared with each word he spoke. The moment his mouth had voiced the name Flint she had gone still. No matter how far this village was from the sea, Flint’s name was known. Once this was done, James and Thomas would have to move. God, he hoped they would, without getting themselves into danger. He hoped they would forgive him someday. Forgive him that he had destroyed their happiness.

“He didn’t.” This time, Hands didn’t sound as convinced as before, and John used it to his advantage. Not that he knew the location, but when had he ever had problems to make things up after the lie had been spoken?

“What do you think I coaxed out of him during our voyage to Savannah? All the times I spoke to him, saw him, argued with him. He never held back information from me. I knew, I always knew.”

For a moment all was silent, and John held his ground when Hands tried to stare into his soul, find the lie. In front of James or Thomas John wouldn’t have been able to keep this up, but in front of Hands? This was a man John didn’t know anymore, and Hands had never known him. A lie was nothing. It was the mask he wore the easiest. The lie of Long John Silver.

“We’ll see,” Hands grunted and then clicked with his tongue. “Take him!”

It took him by surprise when two of the men sprang forward, and while he managed to slip away from the first, nimbler with his crutch than ever, a hand grabbed his forearm nonetheless. “Let go!” he spat but wasn’t obeyed. With force he hit the men that held him, and something snapped under his fist. Blood seeped over the man’s mouth and beard, and John was grimly delighted to know he had broken his nose.

“I told you to not underestimate him,” Hands shouted while John used the momentum to get his feet back under him and look for something he could use as a weapon. His eyes roamed the room, but nothing useful was in reach. There was a scream, then a cry and John jerked to see Penny struggle under Hands’ grip. Before he could intervene, she was slapped across the face and the force pulled her sideways. In shock John watched how Hands slid the tip of the dagger over her neck and blood seeped down her throat. Penny didn’t even scream, the shock was too severe.

“Stop,” he shouted and the men wanting to grab him stilled, probably influenced by the harshness in his voice. As all sailors, pirates were used to follow commands.

Hands, however, just looked at him, madness in every fiber.

“Keep struggling and she’s dead,” he said with such a seriousness that John knew it wasn’t an empty thread. Not with Hands, who knew how to murder. Gritting his teeth, John took a deep breath, before he forcefully released the tension.

“Let her go,” he said slowly, and this time he didn’t resist when they grabbed him. All the way to the door he kept holding Hands’ gaze, and only when he stood before him and Penny, it switched to Penny. Meanwhile Hands lowered the dagger, a smirk visible on his scared face. He was ugly.

“Good decision,” Hands said, but John focused on Penny, who was white as a sheet. Maybe it was the last time he saw her. Maybe in a few hours he would be dead.

“Forgive me.” The words were quiet, for Penny’s ears only. Nothing could make this right, but it was all he could give her. It shouldn’t have come to this. It never should have. A hand gripped his upper arm. His head was yanked to the side. The force of the pull made him stumble, and his crutch clattered to the floor.  _ Shit. _

“No!” Penny’s cry rung in his ears, and he turned his head. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. Hands shoved her inside and her fragile body crashed on the floor. Before he could do anything the door was shut. 


	4. Movement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Thomas realize John is gone, and John realizes he never wanted to be a king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Maggie_Kyle and uniwoldwerecorn for betaing.  
> Also sorry to everyone it took so long.

Deep, thorough sleep was foreign to James. Since his Navy days he had been thrilled to sleep with one eye open, keep watch, listen for danger and be awake the moment his presence was needed. It hadn’t lessened during his years as a pirate captain. In fact, a light sleep had been a necessity. Too many factors could have steered his ship into a cliff. A storm as much as men. Spaniards, Englishmen, pirates, the Navy. His own fucking crew. He had only ever slept deeply in Miranda's presence. Now, despite being far from the sea, and even with Thomas’ arms around his waist, James only slept lightly. A part of him missed John. A part of him waited for the second half of his heart to come back home.

He was awake the moment the first knock came at the front door, echoing through the master’s bedroom.

James almost jumped out of bed at the second one. Every urgent knock that followed made his heart beat a little louder. In the dark he searched for his trousers, eyes darting around the room. Only the moon guided him, and it wasn’t much light to see. Gray and black danced a dance of shadows, but the adrenaline kept him from thinking straight and lighting a lamp.

“James, what?” a low voice mumbled, but the knocking didn’t die down and fear gripped him. Something devastating had happened. James felt it in his bones. Why would someone knock at their door in the middle of the night?

“Get up!” James tried to keep his voice low, but didn’t manage. He knew his words sounded like an order, but God, he couldn’t change it. “Get Up!”

He stumbled around the room naked until he finally found his trousers. A part of his brain made a mental list of what he needed to do to vanish from the place. Find John, pack some light luggage, get his sword and provisions, maybe steal some horses. Find John, especially. Where was he, anyway? It was way too late for him to come home. Even with Old Maggy’s birthday it was past time to make it back home.

A part of his brain made a mental list, the rest still tried to wake up. He was sluggish in his attempt to get into his trousers. His hands trembled, and his brain couldn’t wrap itself around what possibly could have gone wrong. Had someone found out about his and John’s past? Was the Navy knocking at the door? Would they take him? Did they already have John? Would James be able to get him back? Was Thomas safe? Thousand possibilities, and none made sense.

Stumbling from the bedroom into the parlor to get to the hallway and door, James hit his toes at the armchair and nearly fell over. A curse escaped his mouth, but the pain cleared his foggy head. If it was the Navy, he had to be prepared. Behind their books he kept a sword and he would get it. Sure, he was out of practice, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

Only then, when he stood still for a moment to contemplate the best tactic to get away, he heard the voice. A faint voice he knew well. A light tone now laced with desperation. It carried through the knocking, and every determination James had was knocked out of him.

“Penny?” he breathed into the empty room, eyes wide as if to see better in the dark. It was no use, the fire in the fireplace had gone out hours ago. Meanwhile Penny’s knocking and shouting became fierce and louder with every second.

If it wasn’t the Navy but Penny, what had happened?

Light fell into the room and out of the corner of his eyes James could see Thomas rushing in, a lamp in his hand. It illuminated the room sufficiently to see the shadows flicker across the walls. Blood thumped loudly in his ears, adrenaline moving him to action. Together with Thomas he rushed to the front door, his hands balling into fists. “Open up,” could be heard through the wooden door, “Please!”

With shaking, clumsy fingers James turned the handle to see a tear-streaked, shivering Penny stand in front of him. Her hair was tousled, blood was smeared across her neck, her eyes were full of fear. She clutched her dress, the one she had worn earlier. James remembered it, because the thought had crossed his mind how much Penny looked like Eleanor. Even her choice of clothing was similar, the skirt in light blue, the blouse in a matching color, hair pinned up to not get in the way. She looked similar, but she was not Eleanor. James knew, he knew and yet, when Penny fell into his arms, crying into his chest, it was hard to not feel the same warm feeling. Like he was holding a daughter he never had.

Feeling the girl pressed to his body tugged at James’ heart, and something in him shifted. Fear was still present, but a calm overcame him that was almost scary. No one was allowed to disturb his peace, no one was allowed to make the people he cared for cry, and God help him, he would fight whoever dared to lay a hand on his loved ones.

He shared a glance with Thomas, who only watched with wide eyes, and then closed the door. Almost automatically James had started to make soothing noises. He cradled Penny’s hair with one hand and used the other to lift her chin, to look into her face.

“Breathe,” James murmured. “Breathe and then tell me what it is. What happened to you?”

But instead of calming down even more tears streamed down her face. Helpless sobs bubbled out of Penny’s throat, choked as she tried to speak. She needed several attempts before she managed a coherent sentence.

“They took him. Mister… John. They took him. They took him. Oh my God, they took him!”

Next to him Thomas stiffened and the lamp he held wavered. The shadows flickered, swishing back and forth like monsters waiting in the darkness. Each and every one was ready to jump and swallow them whole, but James didn’t fear them anymore. He had seen every monster, had faced every enemy and even conquered the raging sea. He wasn’t crouching. This time he would jump straight into the waves and whatever enemy he might face, he wouldn’t allow them to take John from him. Not again. Not ever again.

Captain Flint may have lost Long John Silver, but he wasn’t Captain Flint anymore and Long John Silver was just as dead. Fuck those dragons waiting in the dark. John was his to protect and cherish. John was his to illuminate the darkness. Thomas and him were James’ daylight and he would fight to see their light shine.

“Who is them?” James asked, and his steady voice seemed to get through to the girl. She took a deep breath and despite her tears that never really stopped spilling, she managed to gather her thoughts and speak clearly. Her eyes shone like diamonds in the lamplight, and they focused on his face like he was the anchor she needed.

“Pirates,” Penny said, and the word rung in the dark room like a bell. “Pirates, several of them. You must know them, captain. You must! They threatened him, they…” Her hand went up to touch her neck and a shadow slipped over her face, but she visibly bit back the fear. “It’s my fault. Without me, Mr. McGraw would have fought, but one of them, the leader, held me hostage.”

It was at this moment James finally registered the state Penny was in. Despite the blood being clearly visible, he hadn’t paid it much attention, too worried about John. Now, however he interrupted her, hand going to her neck to push back her hair, which had come loose from her bun.

“Are you still bleeding?” he asked, trying to find a wound but only seeing a faint cut, already scabbed over. Whoever had wielded the blade had known how to use it.

“No, I’m…” Penny staggered, tears spilling again, and out of an instinct James pressed her against his chest. With idle movements he stroked through her hair, caressed her back, whispered nonsense that was supposed to reassure her. Next to him Thomas shifted and leaned down to whisper into his ear.

“Get her into the parlor, I'll make tea. And get us both shirts.”

James nodded slightly. Unbidden, he smiled at the absurdity of all of this. Penny, the sweet barmaid from down the tavern had just knocked at their door to tell them that their lover had been taken captive by pirates – pirates James was sure he knew, unfortunately, – and all Thomas could think of was to make tea. No matter how much they tried to get rid of it, a part of them would forever and always stay English, and despite his hatred for the country James couldn’t really mind. Storming out with a sword in hand but no shirt on, to chase whoever it was that had taken John, wasn’t the best idea anyway. And if they wanted to know where the cache was – and the sudden realization that  _ that _ was the cause of those pirates being here sunk into him like a stone sunk in the water – John was probably safe for now. Dead men tell no tales.

“Come on,” he whispered into Penny’s hair and slowly eased her into the parlor and onto the settee. She followed him like a puppy, letting him lead. His thumbs caressed her cheeks, brushed off her tears, but they just didn't stop. She really must love John, the way she cared for him. What else would drive a girl of her age to come to their house after she had been attacked by pirates? Penny was strong. She was a force of nature, no matter she didn’t know it, yet.

A moment later, Thomas returned with a shirt in his hand. He already wore his own. James stood and pulled it over his head. Meanwhile Thomas had taken his position and slung an arm around Penny’s shoulder.

“What are we going to do?” Thomas asked into the silence. His face was stoic, only his voice gave away his concern. It was the only emotion he showed. Despite knowing him so well, James couldn’t tell what was going on deep inside him. Thousands of emotions showed on his own face, he knew, but Thomas’ expressions were blank.

They all had lived through a lot of pain, had endured hardship and loss. It had changed them, and they handled concern differently. James was coming up with and dismissing strategy over strategy. Thomas however… he became calm, silent, and directed his suffering inwards. A mental wall built around his heart and soul to protect him from whatever outward attack. James knew only bits and pieces about Thomas’ time in Bedlam, but it was enough to make his blood boil. If he lost John… he'd likely lose Thomas as well. It was nothing James would allow to happen.

“I'll get him back!”

“ _ You'll _ get him back?” Thomas’ voice was laced with indignation. But it was more. It was fear masked with incredulousness. “What if they take you, too? Do you expect me to sit here and wait for you to never return?”

“Thomas,” James whispered in a painfilled voice. He didn’t want to worry him. No, he didn’t want Thomas to join him, because Thomas would see parts of his viciousness. Thomas would see how violent he could become, and that was a part of him James never wanted Thomas to see. Those men, whoever they were, obviously knew about his past and would force him to walk back into it. For John and Thomas he would do it, but to risk their safety and sanity? It was a step he wasn’t willing to take. John was already in danger because of it. James wouldn’t endanger Thomas as well.

“Do not think I’ll let you go alone!”

Thomas’ eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and James moved towards him to take his face into both his hands. He knew Penny was still sitting next to Thomas, he knew she could see the affection the moment she looked up from where she had buried her head in Thomas’ chest. He knew, he knew, he knew, but right now he didn’t care. All that counted was this moment. All that counted was to look into Thomas’ eyes and convey without words all that James wanted to tell.

“Thomas,” he repeated, softly, pleadingly. “Please.”

He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk him. Couldn’t risk losing either Thomas or John. This time, James wouldn’t risk anyone’s life other than his own.

“He’s mine to protect and to cherish, too,” Thomas whispered as an answer and it cracked the shell around James’ heart. “I will come with you. I won’t let you go alone.”

“Neither of you has to go alone,” Penny suddenly said. While her face was still blotched and tear-streaked, she had finally stopped crying. Something wild emitted from her stance, her eyes, as she leaned back to look at them. It was a grimness James had never seen in her before. He would have wanted a young woman like her to be spared from experiencing such a vicious feeling. “Dad is already gathering all the patrons to get Mr. McGraw back!”

The words struck James hard. His legs buckled, and he slowly sank to his knees in front of her. Every word reverberated in his chest, but he still couldn’t grasp them. His heart beat rapidly, and he stared at her like she was an unknown creature, a fae from another world. A sea witch, who had appeared to strike a bargain with him, to take his sanity in exchange for the fulfilling of a dream he had long forgotten.

“They gather to get him… back?” he asked, words dragged from his mouth in disbelief. Repeated to make them real in the light of illusion.

“Yes. Of course. He’s one of us, you all are, you’re part of this village. Captain, this is your home, and you belong here. Those pirates have no right to threaten you!”

Every word made his thoughts swirl, and unbidden tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Slowly James’ vision blurred until all he could see was Penny’s blond hair gleaming golden in the lamp light and Thomas’ concerned face that looked down at him.

Their home. His home. A place where his captaincy had no virtue, where a shovel was considered more valuable than an oar. A place where people wanted him, and Thomas, and John. A place where people fought  _ for, _ not  _ against _ them. The place Miranda would have wanted, the place John had fought for, the place Thomas had found for him.

“Thom-,” he tried to speak but only garbled sobbing came out of his mouth. Clearing his voice, James tried again to speak and this time it worked.

“Thomas,” he said and in response his shoulder was squeezed. “Get me a piece of paper and ink.”

They wanted the cache? They could have it. He should never have fought for it in the first place, if it took his loved ones away from him. What did gems and gold matter when James could have this instead? Should others fight a war. He was done with it.

* * *

All his muscles ached, his wrists were bloody and raw, and his clothes dirty and torn. Yet, the worst was that John felt a certain kind of déjà vu he wished to never have. Being chained to a pillar with Hands in front of him reminded him too much of a past he had wished so desperately to leave behind. The only difference this time was that he didn’t even think of trying to talk himself out of it to save his own skin. Not when it meant endangering James and Thomas. It made Hands furious.

“Speak up!”

The words were shouted into John’s face and he expected the blow, unlike the first time when John had kept silent and Hands had slapped him across the face. It stung and John could taste his own blood on his tongue. He grinned, madly, and his voice dripped with sarcasm.

“You used to ask more nicely in the past.”

At that time he had been at the Wrecks in Nassau, and not in some old barn house, long abandoned after the original owner had died. The name of the old man escaped him at the moment, and a part of his mind was desperately trying to remember. It was the part that stopped him from going insane. The part that kept him from losing it to the fear and worry bubbling in his chest. Fear and worry about what would happen to Thomas and James. Would they be able to live on peacefully after he died here? Would they move on?

_ “We love you, and you’re a part of us.” _

To be honest, he wasn’t so sure about that. He had seen James’ – Captain Flint’s – rage, had seen Thomas’ silent, hidden fear of loneliness. He had seen… had  _ seen _ so much. But only now he understood.

He was slapped another time. It threw his head to the side. The force of it made his teeth bore into his upper lip, ripped open even further. But he refrained from screaming in pain and frustration. His gaze connected with Hands’, holding it, and a deep, dark satisfaction rushed through him at the visible shudder.

“What happened to Morgan?”

Tom Morgan, his loyal friend, who had found Thomas for him, who had stayed by his side. Who had killed Long John Silver for him. The chains around his wrists clinked dangerously when he shifted to find a more comfortable position. It was impossible.

“Told me you’re dead. I didn’t believe him. Now he definitely is!”

Hands’ voice didn’t betray any remorse, which made his heart bleed even more. John had never wished such an outcome for the man. Had never wanted him to die for his safety and well-being. He had never wanted anyone to die for him, and yet Morgan had become another victim laying in his path, struck down for him to move on.

He closed his eyes for a moment to let the ache wash over him. It was the moment a hand shot out to his throat and pressed. Lifted him up centimeters from the ground, his back chafing against the wooden pillar. A choked sound escaped his mouth, while he breathed in Hands’ breath.

“You’ve become so weak. I can see it in your eyes,” Hands growled into John’s face. From this distance John could see the madness carved into every line of Hands’ face. During Hands’ travels without him something must have snapped in the pirate. Some part of his humanity was gone. Whatever it was had left him broken. John wondered if he could have stopped it. Could have stopped all of this, if he had done something different. “You were a king! Our king. My king. Now you’re nothing but weak.”

John laughed suddenly, unbidden, and gurgled through the grip around his throat. He would have reached out, wanted to, and again, the chains cut deep into his skin when he tried to move. He understood. The realization filled him with peace, with understanding, with a deep sadness. He knew what it meant to be alone, and it must have shown on his face, because Hands growled. Growled when John spoke, as calmly as possible with a hand around his throat threatening to choke him to death.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. But I never was a king and I never intended to claim that crown. It’s gone.”

And it was, and John was glad about it. He could have changed this outcome, but he wouldn't have wanted to.

* * *

People. There were so many people in the tavern. If James had thought it to be packed when he had said his wishes to Old Maggy, he couldn’t comprehend this. Every single soul of the village was in the Matthew’s tap room, murmuring and whispering, the voices accumulating to a roar of suppressed anger. It set his heart thrumming, blood rushing loudly through his ears. All these people were here to help them. It was in itself so unbelievable he had pinched himself twice and not yet woken up.

It had taken them a while to reach the tavern. First Penny had needed to calm and then Thomas had insisted to clean the wound on her neck. Not to mention James had needed time to draw the map. The map that now lay hidden in the pocket of his vest, heavy like a stone and yet as light as a feather. Ghosts attached to it, like leaves to a tree.

Supple, green leaves only sprouting on one particular island. A forest so dark it was eerie, misted with fog and mysteries.

James had wished to cut those bonds, had thought he had but now realized it needed this one last step to separate John and himself from the wrecked island completely. His eyes swept the crowd, again. They had the force of a village to cut this bond. He hoped it was enough.

“Captain,” a voice reached over the murmur and James turned to spot Charlie walking towards him. Louise followed on short notice, her gaze searching for Penny and relief washed over her features the moment she spotted her daughter. Stepping aside he let the mother embrace her daughter. Instead he looked at Charlie.

The man wore dark cotton clothes; some black shirt and brown trousers. His usual attire, to hide any stains from the work in the tavern. New was a dark leather belt and the two daggers attached to it. They gleamed in the dim light, as if to tell everyone who was bold enough to look that they could do damage, deeper than a blade may cut. In a way he was a mirror to James’ own look. Dark clothes, a worn belt, a sword unused for a long time but well remembered how to kill. How to protect.

“Thank you,” James murmured, and his words were sincere. Charlie understood, because he just nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture felt familiar, like a memory resurrected from a long forgotten dream. Then his gaze flittered to Thomas and softened.

“We won’t let him die.”

James could see how Thomas gulped, because his adam’s apple bobbed visibly. He tried not to show his fear, but it was hard. Harder than for James who knew how to look death in the eye and come out victorious. Harder than for Charlie, whose grasp of death was too loose to really fear it. But Thomas. Thomas knew and dreaded it, dreaded the loss he didn’t know how to handle. He knew of the following consequences. He knew, he knew, and he knew his heart wasn’t made for it. Never had been. Never would be. It made him into an extraordinary man, a wonderful man. AndJames feared. Feared not only for John but for Thomas. He knew he wouldn’t only lose one, but both. He would lose himself.

His hand shot out and gripped Thomas’ own, pressing hard, holding him.

“No, we won’t!”

A beat passed, a deep understanding shifted between them, before James spoke again. His voice changed, his body and mind reacting to the situation. He was born to lead, and nothing could stop him from fulfilling his role. Not when it meant protecting someone he loved.

“I want you all to be careful. I don’t want to bury anyone tonight. I also need Penny to remember as much as she can, so in the best case we know who we’re dealing with. I have an inkling, but I can’t be sure. These people are pirates and dangerous, but they’re human. And humans can be defeated.”

His voice must have reached Penny’s ear, because she made herself loose from her mother’s embrace and faced James. Every line of her face was drawn tight, her eyes serious. She looked older than she was. She looked older than James wanted her to look. The determination was false on a face so beautiful and innocent. Eleanor had needed to grow up too fast. She had payed deadly for it. However similar Penny was to her, it was a fate he didn’t wish to be repeated.

“I can describe you the looks of the men,” Penny stated, and James nodded. His hold on Thomas’ hand tightened. “The leader, he must be the leader, he had ginger hair, not unlike you.”

Dread filled James, because the image of a man came to mind, like an echo from the past. His face scarred, his eyes hard. His voice. His voice a steady onslaught of influence on John’s mind. That bastard.

“He had a scarred face, as if he had once burned himself heavily.”

Burned by the fires of hell. James wished he had killed him, back then. Wished he had teared his sword through his chest, like he wanted to in a moment of unyielded rage. Yet his voice of reason had gotten the better of him. He should have let Joji live and kill Hands in turn. He should have. He hadn’t.

“The eyes green, but wild. Like something had possessed him. He…”

Her voice broke, and James lifted his hand to stop her from continue speaking. He knew enough. Unfortunately he was aware who had taken John even as the why remained hidden. Israel Hands was a sly bastard, focused on his own agenda. A bastard more-so because John had once trusted him. They had always shared a connection James had not understood. Now he hoped this fragile thread kept his beloved alive.

With shaking fingers he brushed some loose strands out of his face. Never letting go of Thomas, as if the man was his life-line, his connection to sanity, he tried to tie his hair back. It didn’t work and all that remained was an even greater mess.

“Captain?”

Penny’s voice made it through to him and some parts of his mind snapped back to reality. Making himself loose from Thomas he swiftly tied his hair back, holding himself from grimacing. He was losing himself in public. As if the situation wasn’t dangerous enough.

“I know who the man is. He can be ruthless, but I wager he wants some information from John. He has –“ James stopped, gulped. “We have sailed a lot, we know currents and trading routes. We… I was responsible for my crew. I…”

His voice wavered, unable to say what he wanted to say. There were too many people in the room to get emotional, but the realization hit him that John must cover for him. Because John never knew the location of the treasure and Hands was aware of it. He knew and still they had taken John. As if they believed John could tell. As if John had made them believe, and given his skill to manipulate, John very likely had. To protect Thomas and him. To protect, as he had always done.

Thomas squeezed his shoulders, grasping his spiraling and overflowing emotions just from looking at him. The man had always had an uncanny ability to know what was going on inside him and James knew now wasn’t any different. He looked into the sky-like eyes and took a deep breath.

“We better hurry,” he said, and then again with a stronger, more determined voice, “The faster we get to them the better.”

His eyes swept over the crowd and this time he tried to assess their strength. A lot of the villagers were fit from farming and doing honest hard work, yet he knew none of them really knew how to fight. They would outnumber Hands and his men easily, but he didn’t want any of those people to get hurt. In his lifetime enough people had suffered from his misery, his tragedy and under his hand. How could he live with more?

John had never wanted this. To sacrifice men for his own vendetta. Why had Hands not taken him?

Something in his gut clenched.

“Where to start searching?”

It was Louise who asked, her arms on Penny’s shoulders, but her expressions focused. She wasn’t afraid, a woman so fierce and strong she didn’t fear pirates or society. James remembered the story John had told about her relationship with two men. Miranda would have liked her, with her hazelnut hair tied loosely in a bun, and her green eyes taking in everything around her. With her uncanny ability to seize a situation and focus on the most important points. They had fought society their own way.

“They must have a hiding, a place they can use without being spotted. Something abandoned.”

“The old barn,” Penny exclaimed, but Louise wrinkled her nose.

“Or the hut by the forest,” she added. “We should have gotten rid of it ages ago.”

“We’re enough people to split up,” Charlie as always the practical one voiced what James didn’t dare to speak. Because splitting up was the best solution but would raise the possibility for something to go wrong. What if the search party he wasn’t in found Hands and his men? They didn’t know him. They were no fighters. He couldn’t protect them. Couldn’t protect anyone. Couldn’t protect John.

His gaze flittered from Thomas to Penny, sweet little Penny with a bandage around her neck and fire in her eyes. Her dress was still bloodied and yet she didn’t seem afraid anymore. Between the people who had turned quieter to listen to the conversation she stool regal like a queen. Her hair shone golden in the light, her features so similar to her mother’s behind her, her eyes like her father’s.

The air was buzzing with tension, everyone waiting for a decision to be made, so they could go and find John McGraw, their beloved cook, the storyteller, the man who could make everyone smile.

People were staring at him. Him, they only knew as a merchant’s captain. A person who had run a crew and had claimed the sea. Their eyes were expectantly, hopeful. As if they trusted him. James realized they waited for an order from him. Because they did, in fact, trust him. Trust him to lead them, and find John, to bring him back to safety. To bring him back home.

His gaze met Charlie’s, who nodded.

Because he belonged here. They belonged here. Thomas, John and him. The shop’s assistant, the cook and the farmer. It was their life now and no one had a right to steal it from them.

Squeezing Thomas’ hand again, James spoke.

“Let’s split and get John back.”


End file.
